


The Weight of Change

by Funkspiel



Series: Kinktober 2017 [9]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Breast Fucking, Breast Growth, M/M, Magical Breast Growth, Mentions of Lactation But No Actual Lactation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 11:17:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12364581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Funkspiel/pseuds/Funkspiel
Summary: When things start getting boring, Grindelwald finds a new way to spice things up with his little prisoner.Day 13: Titfucking





	The Weight of Change

Graves woke suddenly to the feeling of a cold lip against his own and liquid pouring into his mouth. The first swallow came instinctively, too tired and too disoriented to resist. The following swallows came after Grindelwald plugged his nose, ensuring the rest of the potion finished its descent into his belly. The brew was cold, sleek like silk, and sat heavy in his belly despite being so light on his tongue. His stomach curdled with fear, and he tried to fling himself over to vomit, but Grindelwald caught him quickly.

Weak as he was from days without proper food or sleep — a stale slab of bread here and a wink there — he struggled to no avail against the hands that easily spread him on the bed. His wrists were gathered into one large hand and held above his head as Grindelwald straddled him, his own hand waving away the buttons of the director’s tattered shirt, revealing a long expanse of shivering skin beneath. Grinning, but his eyes weren’t on Graves’ face, and it made the poor man feel strangely violated to be looked at like that.

Not that it was even remotely the worst way that the dark wizard had violated him during his captivity.

“Ah,” Grindelwald purred, his calves tightened around Graves’ hips to hold him down tighter. “It’s starting.”

“What are you tal— _ah!_ ” His words tumbled into a strangled grunt as fire bloomed into his chest, starting as a tingle before roaring into an inferno. Eyes wide and breathing short, he craned his neck to look down at himself, the position awkward and painful. Atop his chest, his nipples were pebbling. Tiny pink nubs slowly perking up in reaction to whatever he had swallowed. He flushed, embarrassed, and bit his cheek to keep himself stoic. It wasn’t his fault, and he refused to give Grindelwald the pleasure of seeing him writhe.

Only… the sensation wasn’t stopping.

He looked away with a scowl only to suck in a sharp, shocked breath when Grindelwald used his free hand to thumb one of those flushed and swollen nipples. It felt like electricity, the simple brush shooting pleasure from his nipple straight down his spine, and in his trousers his cock twitched with interest.

“Don’t,” Graves choked as Grindelwald moved to the other nub and brushed it too, making him wriggle uselessly to get free.

“They’re going to be so lovely,” Grindelwald said softly, more to himself than anything else. “Just like the rest of you.”

“What the hell are you going on about?!” Graves snapped, only to feel ice cascade down his spine at a new and growing sensation.

His chest felt swollen. Tight and aching. And when he looked down, it  _looked_  swollen, too. The curve of his pectorals slowly rising, unnoticeable at first until they began to soften and perk like a — a —

A woman’s.

He thrashed anew, his belly twisting as he was bombarded with the alien sensation of extra flesh wobbling on his chest. Small at first, but more and more weight moving as the feeling grew. His nipples widened — two small dots becoming the round, lovely kisses of a woman’s areolas. Dusky and erect where they capped off his growing breasts.

With a simple whisper, Grindelwald enchanted his wrists to stay where he had pinned them over the director’s head, giving him free access and the stretch accentuating the lovely spread of his growing curves. When the dark wizard grabbed him, there was enough there to provide each palm a small, yet ample handful.

Graves felt his breathing quicken. Each inhale sharp and whistling as he struggled to keep up, to escape, to fix it. Panicked, he couldn’t properly think. Terrified, he couldn’t fathom a counter curse. Exhausted, he couldn’t break free.

All he could do was wait and hope the transformation would end soon — and wouldn’t spread past his chest.

“Stop, stop, stop,” he wheezed, face scrunched up as Grindelwald thumbed and kneaded his flesh with a pleased look.

“Ssh,” Grindelwald crooned, “There’s no one to pretend for here, director. You can admit that you like to be touched like this. You’re free to  _enjoy_  my gift. I know I will.”

“I don’t enjoy— _fuck!_ ” He sobbed as the potion suddenly throbbed in his belly, his stomach anxious and writhing and egging it on as his breasts leapt forward in a sudden growth spurt, filling Grindelwald’s palms completely with a plump jiggle. Grindelwald hissed a pleased sound through his teeth and pinched each nipple, large now and angry looking from his pleasurable torture.

“Stop!” Graves whined even as his body arched into it, his spine curving from the bed in a beautiful arch.

“It’s almost done, sweetheart,” Grindelwald promised, hands rising to pet his sweat-slick hair and trembling cheeks. “And then the real fun begins.”

“ _No—_ “ Graves gasped, but it didn’t stop the inevitable. Nearing the end of its purpose, the potion amped up for its grand finale. Graves’ breasts leapt forward again, too round and too pert for Grindelwald to completely cover with his palms. It seemed to settle for a moment, a generous lull in tingling from his belly, and Graves nearly sobbed with relief at the thought that it was over.

But with one last blossom of magic, his breasts surged forward again. Flesh dimpled around the claws of Grindelwald’s fingers — like too much dough in a pastry cup. Smooshed against his chest because the madman had not relented and pulled his hands back at all. Not extraordinarily large but still far from average. The weight was strange, suffocating in his panic, and Graves felt hot agony well on his lashes even as he bit his lip to hold back to floodgates of his tears.

“Perfect,” Grindelwald sighed from atop him, leaning back on his ass — heavy over Graves’ crotch — to take him in.

“Change me back,” Graves croaked, and Grindelwald merely looked amused as he shook his head, as though the director were an adorable pet begging for treats rather than a prisoner praying for help.

“But director,” he purred, waving one hand to remove his trousers from his person in one go — now only clad in one of Graves’ beautiful white shirts, elegant vests, and socks and garters. His dick long and full and bobbing eagerly before him. “We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet.”

The tears he had been holding back sprung free when Grindelwald shimmied up to nestle his still growing cock between the new mounds of his breasts; his weeping cockhead pointed straight at his face.

Two large hands came to cusp either side of his heaving tits, cupping them gently, before pushing them together until they hugged Grindelwald’s length snuggly. The dark wizard made a show of tossing his head back with pleasure, eyes rolling as he praised the ample bust Graves had grown for him. For his part, the director struggled. Heels digging at the bed, flailing to kick him, but unable to reach him properly or gain any soft of leverage.

It made for a bumpy ride, but Grindelwald didn’t seem to mind. He slowly pulled back, until just the tip of his cock was still nestled between the bottom of Graves’ tits, and the director felt every inch of it. With a shocked exhale, Graves threw back his head as Grindelwald quickly rutted himself back in to the root in one thrust. It shouldn’t have felt good. It shouldn’t have felt so  _overwhelming_. But the thrust had felt so much like the pleasure of a lover striking his prostate, Graves could not stop himself being beginning to grow hard.

“Don’t worry, director,” Grindelwald purred from above him, grinning. “I made sure you’d be able to enjoy it too.”

“No,” Graves croaked again, but Grindelwald had already begun to thrust in full, sharp, quick jerks. Shaking the aching mounds of his newly plump chest, making them wobble enticingly around the quickly slickening length hotdogged between them. Each thrust resulted in the slit of his cockhead peeking through the cleft of his tits, and Graves new with a desperate sinking feeling that this would not end cleanly for his face.

Graves opened his mouth — to deny his pleasure, to pray, to plead, he didn’t know — but all that came out was a long and ravenous moan. His toes curled, his back arched, and his body writhed at the mercy of Grindelwald’s dick.

“Maybe I’ll leave you like this,” Grindelwald mused between pleasured pants. “Can you imagine if they found you? Thin but for the tits that hung beautifully from your chest? I bet you can’t even button this ratty old shirt up around them. I bet they’d make those feebly buttons strain gorgeously from their spread. Maybe I’ll start giving you herbs with your food — just to see if they’ll weep lovely, lovely milk for me.”

Graves sobbed, but something filthy in him banged for it — curious and intrigued. Terrifying.

“No,” he moaned.

“Imagine how that’d feel. If my just my dick can get you so worked up, imagine what it would feel like if I was sucking milk from your nipples. Kneading them with my hands as I drank you dry. One breast still large and hot and hurting and full, needy until I finish with the first. Would you like that?”

“No,” he gasped, but it was weak and Grindelwald knew it.

“But that’s a game for another time,” he said as he thrust, thumbs rubbing his nipples in harsh circles as he rutted into him. “One step at a time. We have time, after all.”

Graves’ fingernails bit into his palms, and he’d have snarled if he had heard the malicious jibe, but he couldn’t hear over the pounding in his ears — in his cock. The beginning of an orgasm began to pool inside his balls, bloating them, drawing them tight. He tried to resist. He bit his lip, he turned his head this way and that. But nothing could stop the rising tide within him. He closed his eyes. He concentrated on outlasting Grindelwald, hoping that if he didn’t come before him that Grindelwald wouldn’t bother to finish him off. He focused as best he could.

And that was his mistake.

With a grin, Grindelwald murmured one last spell, and all at once, Graves felt several things. A phantom mouth around his aching cock; fingers at his balls; the fat and weeping head of a cock nestled at his hole and pressing, but not entering; and finally two pinching fingers at his nipples, pulling them taut and away from the heft of his breasts. He came — hard and sudden and with a wretched shout — and Grindelwald followed, his hands crushing Graves’ tits tight against his dick as it throbbed between them. Cum painted Graves in stripes across his brow, the bottom of his chin, his nose, his gasping mouth, even landing on his tongue.

Grindelwald squeezed his tits one more time, then pulled up and away to quickly clean himself up and enchant a pair of trousers to slip up either leg and bundle him away.

“I encourage you to explore you gift, director,” Grindelwald said as he finished tidying himself up, not bothering to clean Graves. In fact, rather enjoying his debauchery. “You might as well get comfortable with them. They aren’t going anywhere for a while, after all.”

And then he left, leaving Graves with a heavy weight of dread and confused arousal and self loathing in his gut and an even heavier weight upon his chest.


End file.
